Scent of Triumph (17 page)

His breath was warm against her hair and she remembered how, when she was a child, Jean-Claude had protected her from the neighborhood bullies. But she was soon to be on her own.
And I must succeed.
She shivered involuntarily, then caught herself. This was no time for nervousness.

Danielle pulled away. “Thank you, Jean-Claude, for what you and others have arranged for me. How can I repay you?”

Jean-Claude looked at her with somber eyes. “Just deliver the train case. And don’t forget, you are one of us now. For the rest of your life.”

Hélène adjusted her brown felt beret, on which she had strategically fastened a faux cameo pin to hide the moth holes. She stood by the table in the tiny kitchen of their flat sorting through mail, waiting for her mother-in-law, Marie.

She’d arranged for Liliana to stay with a neighbor for the afternoon, because she had something terribly important to discuss with Marie. Since her mother died, Hélène had no one to confide in—no one whom she trusted enough to divulge her suspicions about Jean-Claude.

At the sound of the knock, Hélène opened the door.

Marie stepped inside. “Good morning, am I too early?”

“No, I’m ready to go.” She left the mail on the table for her husband, and picked up her gloves and purse.

Hélène glanced at Marie’s outfit, and felt dowdy in comparison. Marie looked beautiful in a pastel blue spring suit with a matching hat and purse. Hélène swallowed. Maybe she should try to dress better. Could that be why her husband had lost interest in her? She was only twenty-six. “Marie, how do you manage to always look so chic?”

Marie laughed. “I haven’t thrown anything out in decades. Over time, one develops a wardrobe with a sense of personal style. But life was different when my children were young. They were my priority then.”

“I’m proof of that,” Hélène said, self conscious of her moth-eaten beret. Maybe she spent
too
much time on her daughter. Could that be the reason Jean-Claude was out late every night? Hélène chewed her lip. How could she tell Marie?

Marie patted Hélène’s arm. “Don’t worry about your clothes, I’ll take you shopping. I wish I were as pretty as you.” She smiled at her. “Shall we start walking?”

Hélène nodded and shut the door behind them. They started off to a quaint little café around the corner.

Uneasy about raising the subject of her husband’s possible infidelity, Hélène eased into conversation. “How soon will your home be ready?”

Marie clucked her tongue. “The renovation is five months behind schedule. It’s been delayed because so many craftsmen have joined the war effort. As they should. Our home, as much as I love it, is not as important.” She shrugged. “Of course, Edouard is livid. He wants the house completed right away, now that we have the money to do it.” Marie gave a small laugh. “Men want instant gratification, don’t you think?”

Hélène felt like bursting into tears, but instead, she swallowed hard against the knot in her throat.

Without waiting for an answer, Marie continued. “I’m so glad you could join me for lunch, today. Edouard’s birthday is next month and I’m planning a weekend trip for us, but I’d like to have a surprise luncheon for him on the Friday before we leave.” They turned the corner. “Ah, here we are.”

The day was sunny and mild, so they decided to sit outside at a table. They ordered their food, then Marie went on. “I know Edouard would love to celebrate his birthday with you and Liliana. Naturally, Jean-Claude is welcome too, but I doubt if he’ll want to join us.”

“Jean-Claude is so incredibly stubborn.” Hélène sighed. She was losing her nerve to broach the subject of her marital woes. It seemed easier to let Marie do the talking.

Marie frowned at her. “What’s that, my dear?”

Hélène shifted in her chair. “I don’t suppose Jean-Claude will want to be part of Edouard’s birthday festivities.”

“Time will heal their differences, Hélène. Though Jean-Claude’s words have had a tremendous impact on Edouard.”

“Really?” Hélène didn’t think Edouard even listened to Jean-Claude. He seemed more stubborn than his son, if that were possible. “Two hard-headed men, that’s what they are.”

Marie put her hand over Hélène’s. “My dear Hélène. I fear my son’s been too hard on you.”

“I don’t know what to think, Marie.” Was it another woman?

“You poor dear.” Marie lowered her voice. “But you must see that Jean-Claude’s beliefs about the Nazi party have validity. Since the Great War, Europe has suffered a terrible depression. Although Hitler’s economic plan appears to have benefited his people, it’s at the expense of the European community. Yet, people overlook grave injustices when money is at stake, especially bankers.” Marie sniffed. “Men and their politics.”

Hélène stared at her. She thought Marie had picked up on her concern about Jean-Claude. What was she talking about?

A waiter brought a carafe of Beaujolais to their table and poured two glasses for them.

Marie took a sip of the red wine. “Very nice, quite refreshing.” She turned to Hélène. “You see, it’s precisely Jean-Claude’s stance, as well as Danielle’s situation, which has caused Edouard to reexamine the impact of the banking community’s actions.”

Hélène rubbed her forehead and tried to follow Marie. Politics was not one of her favorite subjects. “You mean, he has changed his mind?”

“Not entirely, mind you.” Marie leaned across the table. “It’s hard for him to get past the profits. But yes, he is delving into the political ramifications of the bank’s lending practices, and he never would have done that had Jean-Claude not been so steadfast in his argument. Edouard is reevaluating his priorities.”

“You mean, because of Jean-Claude?”

“You should be very proud of Jean-Claude, for his courage of conviction.”

Hélène shook her head in confusion.

Marie regarded her daughter-in-law with an earnest expression. “Jean-Claude is right, you know.”

“He is?”

“We cannot ignore the issues simply because they are inconvenient for us. Hélène, we are at war. While the fighting may not be on our land, the wolf is at the door.”

Hélène picked up her glass of wine and took several sips. Suddenly, her concern over her husband’s fidelity seemed to pale in comparison to Marie’s talk of war.

Marie continued, her voice growing stronger. “If Edouard’s beliefs truly shift, and I think they will, he must either work to change the bank’s policies, as well as the beliefs of his partners, or resign.”

Hélène twirled a strand of hair tightly around her finger, thinking. “The bank has been Edouard’s life, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, but he cannot disregard Hitler’s actions against the people of Europe.” As Marie spoke, she grew more visibly unsettled. “I’m beginning to think our fortifications may not be adequate to stand against Hitler.”

At Marie’s words, a chill coursed through Hélène. Hitler, in France? She reached for her wine.

Marie drew her brows together and set her mouth in a determined line. “What really brought this home to Edouard is the thought that in an indirect way he’s aiding a man who promotes an ideology aimed at destroying the very people he loves, only because of our heritage. Hitler is against anyone who is different from him, anyone who does not share Nazi party beliefs.” Marie grabbed Hélène’s hand. “This has shaken Edouard’s very foundation. How can he continue his business practices at the expense of his family, and of millions of others just like us? I don’t mind telling you, we have come very close to separating over all of this.”

Hélène stared at Marie. “You’ve had marital problems?”

At that, a soft smile spread across Marie’s face. “Every married couple has problems, Hélène.”

Somehow, Marie’s admission seemed to calm her. After another sip of wine, she raised her eyes to Marie. “This talk of war frightens me. And all this talk of heritage. We’re all Catholic, surely this doesn’t concern us, I mean, we are safe in France, aren’t we?”

Marie frowned and continued slowly. “I know it might be difficult for you to understand. You were raised in the Catholic church, as were my children, at my husband’s behest. This was a condition of our marriage, and I was in love.” She expressed a puff of air between her lips. “This, however, changes nothing. According to Jewish law, my children—and according to Hitler’s laws, your Liliana, too—have Jewish blood in their veins. Nazi laws strip us of our rights. Imagine if Hitler’s troops were to invade France.”

Hélène shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Could Liliana be yanked from her arms? She shuddered at the thought, and wished she could shove everything away, all the problems of the world, and go back to being a mother and housewife—that was all she’d ever wanted. “What should we do?”

Marie’s voice dropped to a whisper and sounded more urgent. “We should all think of leaving France. Consider your daughter. Look at poor Danielle and Max, her son Nicky, and Max’s mother Sofia.
Tragic
. Hélène, I implore you to consider this.”

Hélène’s head was spinning. She was counting the days until her husband graduated from medical school and could begin his practice. She had endured living in their tiny flat and making do with what they had. They were so close to their goals. And now, this. To leave France was unimaginable—where would they go? Then she thought again of Liliana.

Hélène was relieved when the waiter interrupted them to serve the food, but she barely touched her meal.

After lunch, they walked back to Hélène’s flat. Though birds sang above, and the sun was warm and soothing, Hélène’s stomach churned with anxiety.

As they approached Hélène’s building, Marie turned to her daughter-in-law. “Think about what I’ve said. I know Jean-Claude is committed to France, but you should think of your daughter, too. Look at Danielle’s situation.”

“I will,” Hélène replied solemnly.

After they climbed the stairs, Marie stopped at the door. Reaching into her purse, she withdrew some money and pressed it into Hélène’s hand. “Tell Jean-Claude to take you out to dinner this weekend. I can tell that you need a special night out.”

Hélène shook her head. “But he studies so much.”

Marie lifted her chin. “He has time for his—his political interests, doesn’t he?”

Suddenly overcome, Hélène averted her eyes. “It’s another woman, I think.”

Marie stared at her, then shook her head, and smiled sadly. “My dear girl, Jean-Claude only has eyes for you.” She stopped, and tilted her head. “Is that what you thought?”

Hélène could only nod; her heart was breaking.

“Oh no, believe me, Hélène.” Marie’s voice sounded thick. “His passion is not another woman.”

Hélène looked up and saw a strange expression cross Marie’s face, a fleeting combination of pride and sadness. She grasped Hélène’s face in her hands and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Why Marie, you’re shaking,” Hélène said.

Marie drew back, her eyes meeting Hélène’s. “That’s because there’s a chill in the air,” she said.

* * *

Jean-Claude scurried through the darkened alley on silent feet, glancing furtively behind him. The full moon cast eerie shadows on the cobblestone way. A sharp noise rang out above. Instinctively, he flattened himself against a rough brick wall, hardly breathing. Was it a door, or a gunshot? His heart pounded as he waited, listening.

After a moment, satisfied that he was unobserved, he slipped into a shadowed doorway and knocked two times, paused, then repeated the sequence. The door swung open.

“Enter,” whispered a hoarse male voice.

Jean-Claude went inside and the door closed behind him. He descended the stairs, his eyes adjusting to the dimly lit, smoke-filled cellar. A rough-hewn table stood in the center of the room, surrounded by seven men and two women.

A well-dressed, barrel-chested man greeted him. “We’re just beginning.”

Jean-Claude acknowledged the others, pulled a wooden milk crate to the table, and sat down. He listened intently as their leader outlined a complex plan on a chalkboard.

“If we can cripple the flow of money into Hitler’s coffers,” the man said, “the result will be unpaid salaries, low morale and dissent, scarce ammunition, and eventually, the demise of his expansionary activities. Rats flee a sinking ship. Ultimately, we will prevail.” The man went on to explain details of the operation, then turned to the group.

“These are the assignments,” the man announced, holding up three envelopes. “Any volunteers?”

A slender blond woman raised her hand. “For which targets?”

“Vienna, Berlin.” He paused. “And Paris.”

She whispered to her male companion beside her. “We’ll take Vienna,” they said.

“Good. Each of the three operations must occur at precisely the same time. Berlin?”

Three men raised their hands.

“Paris?”

Jean-Claude swallowed the bile in his throat and met the steady gaze of the red-haired woman who sat opposite him.

“We’ll handle Paris,” she said, nodding to Jean-Claude.

The leader stared at him. “Jean-Claude?”

“
Oui
, Paris.” Jean-Claude returned his partner’s nod. “With Françoise.”

The leader paused and observed the teams. “Divide into groups and work out the details as usual.” He walked among them and placed an envelope before each team.

Jean-Claude looked at Françoise. At twenty-eight, she sported a cap short of henna-red hair, a firm buxom body, and an iron will to match. She was an attractive woman, though hardly his type. His hand trembled as he reached across the table and slid a cigarette from her open pack.

Françoise grinned. “Thought you didn’t smoke, doctor.”

“I don’t.” He tore open the envelope and scanned the page. He smoked half the cigarette, then ground it out. Tossing the note to Françoise, he stood and paced the length of the cellar while she read.

When she finished, she looked up, her mouth agape. “This man works with your father’s bank. Do you know Louis LeBlanc?”

“I do. He sits on the bank’s board of directors.” Jean-Claude placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. “He’s been my father’s best friend for thirty years.”

Françoise lifted a shoulder. “I don’t have a problem with this assignment, but can you do this?”